A Caring Touch
by DeniseV
Summary: Buck, Vin and Ezra have a bit of trouble heading back from Eagle Bend. Only two get injured, but that doesn't mean they don't all need Nathan's caring touch. This is my 30th Mag7 story. I love this fandom. Thanks to everyone who keeps reading my stuff. Much appreciated!


"And believe me, when Ah say that it is not because Ah consider mahself directionally challenged. Certainly Ah have proven mah own expertise time and time again on the various sojourns Ah have made in a solo capacity to and from our dusty little metropolis. Ah am quite certain Ah have been an able companion in our joint forays into the wilds of the high desert. Ah concede, however, that Ah would place good money on Mistah Tanner's ability to get us safely home over mah own learned skills." Luckily, the road home from where they were currently settled was well known to the gambler. Ezra Standish looked over to his two traveling companions, a world of worry obvious on his handsome face. He continued, sadly, speaking to his sleeping associates, "Undoubtedly, Ah would not be placin' mah bet on Vin today."

Buck Wilmington, Vin Tanner and Ezra Standish were returning from two days in Eagle Bend, each having testified as to the guilt of one Jeremiah Kilmer. Three weeks before, the three lawmen had just entered that town's saloon, tired from the two long previous days return from taking three prisoners to the next town over. J.D. Dunne, the youngest of the group of men Judge Orin Travis put together to protect the town that his daughter-in-law and young grandson called home, had also been among the group. They had made haste across the rough section of desert in order to get to Eagle Bend, leaving just the short ride back for the next day. J.D. had only wanted a bed, despite the somewhat early hour, and had retired to the hotel. Ezra was ready for some time at the saloon and a poker table, his partners more interested in a drink and then a bed, preferably with a lovely female if Buck could swing it. Their plans had been shot to hell shortly after setting foot in the drinking establishment, as all three men witnessed Kilmer draw his gun and then shoot the bartender. There were other witnesses, but the sheriff demanded, and Judge Travis had agreed, that the three non-residents would be more compelling witnesses and work to counter the townsfolk, many of whom seemed insistent, despite the clear evidence, that Kilmer had either not done the deed, or had a good reason for doing what he did. But despite the three weeks Kilmer and his friends had to influence as many potential jurors as possible of his innocence, the jury of his peers found that Kilmer did kill a man, an unarmed man, and in cold blood. Any proof of the shooting being justified failed to be convincingly presented by the man's attorney. 'Abysmal representation' Ezra had called it. The man was found guilty and would hang the next morning.

The three lawmen from Four Corners had no interest witnessing a hanging and high-tailed it, as casually as possible, out of Eagle Bend and, much to Ezra's chagrin, very early in the morning, but still only a short time before the gruesome event. After hours on the road, and just over an hour from home, Buck, Vin and Ezra were ambushed, taken by surprise by two of the men who had testified for the defense at Kilmer's trial. These two, most providentially for the lawmen, seemed particularly inept with their guns – the overwhelming odors of bad liquor, days worth of sweat and recent vomit telltale signs of the likely reason – and in the end, all of them had made it to the ground and begun fighting. Luck, at first, seemed on the two attackers' side. Vin was knocked to the dusty, rocky surface, and promptly kicked in the head by his own horse, followed by another opportunistic kick by the bigger of their two attackers. Ezra had glimpsed a knife once or twice through their struggles, but had refocused his efforts on keeping Vin from a third kick to the head. Buck was hit by a bullet, stray no doubt and a damned lucky hit, both that the lowlife was able to hit anything, and that the ladies man didn't get hurt worse; the bullet entered high up on his shoulder and miraculously went through without hitting any bone. Ezra had given Buck a good dose of laudanum to keep the man quiet and give the injury a good chance to heal. The tall, dark and handsome gunman was out before Ezra had a chance to get a pot of coffee going.

Ezra, having been left to defend them all, was forced to whip out and fire his pea shooter when the second one finally put his hand on his gun. Ezra was far too fast and the aim, though he'd hoped for just a wounding shot, had indeed been deadly. The other one had dropped both his hand gun and his rifle on the way into the lawmen's camp. Still on the ground after kicking Vin, he finally found and pointed his rifle at the gambler.

"Seriously?" Ezra asked. The man fired before taking aim; he missed making contact by some very short inches. Ezra groaned as he strained to raise himself up. He must have taken a pretty hard hit or two, based on how he felt. He kicked the rifle from the man's hands, but the ruffian grabbed a thick branch and swung it at the con man. Ezra avoided injury from that, too, but he'd had more than enough by this point and walked up to the man and promptly punched him, knocking the man out. The fool had been tied to a tree ever since.

Once he had his prisoner secure and made sure that Vin and Buck's injuries were tended to, he removed all of his supplies from his trusted steed. Chaucer found the actions confusing, with the saddle not being removed, or even the cinch loosened, but stood patiently as Ezra checked that the saddle would indeed stay put. He removed his notebook, wrote a quick message for his compatriots back in Four Corners, and then sent his horse on its way. Chaucer was their only hope of getting help today. The gambler didn't fret … much; what he also knew was that help would be on the way when they failed to arrive by the previously arranged time that afternoon. Though assistance today would be better – and preferred - neither of his friends, so long as they stayed put and rested, was hurt so bad that they couldn't wait until tomorrow to be seen by their caring healer. Sending Chaucer just seemed wise in any event. By the time Ezra finished seeing his dear equine friend off, and checked on his human ones once more, he found himself surprisingly out of breath … and disgusting damp with sweat. Slowly, and with necessary care as a wave of dizziness hit him, the con man eased himself between his two friends up against the red rock wall, and wiped the moisture from his face as a breeze whipped up and caused him to shiver. Disconcerted by the sudden onset of heat and cold, he leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes, fully aware that he only had a moment's rest. He needed to stay awake to assure their safety.

* * *

"Um … J.D.?" Tiny called. The youngest of the seven peacekeepers was inside the stall at the livery grooming Milagro. It was a pretty though bitterly cold day, the big man's breath hung frozen in the air as he spoke.

"Yeah, Tiny," J.D. replied as he continued to apply even strokes of the brush to his horse.

"Mr. Standish … uh … Chaucer … " the livery man hesitated.

"They back? That's early." J.D. said as he put the brush aside and petted his beautiful animal from his cheek down his neck, and then finished with a deep scratch of Milagro's left ear. The horse leaned into the small man affectionately, happy to accept and encourage the caring touches.

"No. Just Chaucer."

"Oh, hell." J.D. ran around the paradoxically named man and over across to the livery door where Ezra's horse stood. It was obvious the horse had been running; he was warm and slightly damp from his exertions, steam hovering as the warm horse and cold air mixed together. Ezra would not have ridden him so hard just to get home - at least not without guns blazing or an otherwise hurried entrance – which meant that Ezra had definitely not ridden the animal to get here. It seemed obvious to J.D. that Chaucer had hurried home, for whatever reason. It wouldn't be the first time that the gambler had sent his well-trained horse on ahead for help. The young man checked the animal over for any signs of injury, even though he knew that would be the first thing Tiny would have done. He found none, though he did find something equally disturbing: blood. Small, worrying spots of blood smeared over the gambler's fancy saddle.

"Tiny, get Chaucer a drink and something to eat. I'm gonna go get Chris. Take the saddle off, but leave everything else alone for now."

"I'll take care of everything. Go ahead," Tiny replied, but J.D. was bounding out before the big man had given the assurance.

* * *

Ezra woke to the sound of footsteps. Damn it if he hadn't fallen asleep. He was quickly fully awake as he saw the empty spot where he had left Vin asleep earlier. Ezra rose fast to his feet, but leaned back against the rock wall as he became overcome by frustrating lightheadedness. He took a moment and stood still, willing the dizziness away and breathing through the accompanying nausea. A few more moments brought him enough steadiness to seek out the missing member of his party. He checked the other direction first to find Buck still sleeping, and seemingly quite comfortably so. A whinny from the direction of Buck and Vin's mounts had Ezra moving. What he found might have had him laughing … on any other day.

"Mistah Tanner," Ezra implored.

The tracker, still quite addled from the kicks to the head, had his saddle halfway up onto … Buck's horse. He seemed to have given up and was resting with his head up against the big horse's neck. Clyde stood patiently now, the one noise he made earlier seemingly sounded simply to seek assistance for the man hanging from him. Ezra stepped up close, placed his hand on his friend's back and spoke to him softly.

"Vin, come back to camp." He gently turned the man around, forced to grab for the saddle as it fell between Vin and Clyde. The weight of it was too much, one-handed, as he eased it down Clyde's leg, and then kicked it out of the way.

"Ez?" the former bounty hunter asked. "Why'd ya kick my saddle?"

"Why were you tryin' to get your saddle on Mistah Wilmington's horse?" Vin looked from the saddle, his head bobbing tiredly, up to Clyde, and then back down to the saddle. He just stood there, not answering, not doing anything. "Vin?"

Vin looked up to Ezra. Confusion did not begin to fully describe what the gambler saw on the injured man's face. Vin looked back to Clyde, and then did what was completely expected. He turned his head, worry now most evident, seeking out his own horse, but the quick movement brought on dizziness. Ezra held tight.

"Wh … What happened?" Vin asked.

Ezra carried much of Vin's weight as he walked his fellow lawman back to camp. He explained, for the third time, how they had been ambushed, taken by surprise but successful in besting the two men.

"Don't r'member," Vin mumbled.

"Ah am not surprised," Ezra replied.

"Peso."

"Peso is fine. If you'd been able to take two more steps, you would have found him just behind Clyde."

"There's more o' us, y'know," the man that Ezra tied up called.

"Ah would shut your mouth if Ah were you," Ezra warned as he got Vin settled again near the fire. It was still daylight, but also quite unseasonably cold. And the heavy cloud cover that had removed the brilliant sunshine from the sky seemed intent on bringing on an early dusk. The fire, positioned up close to the rock wall, was doing just enough to keep the threesome from freezing. The miscreant tied to the tree was getting just enough to stave off losing some fingers and toes.

"It's yer funeral if ya decided to ignore me. Ain't no skin off my nose if they come and shoot all o' ya. Seems ta me, if you was smart, that ya woulda kep that horse o' yers here … mmph." The man who had kicked Vin in the head would be heard no more, at least not while Ezra, Vin and Buck waited for their friends to show up. Ezra finished shutting the man up, and then stumbled to his bedding between his two friends. He was determined to stay awake this time until help arrived, but was nearly unconscious just moments after his back hit the wall.

* * *

J.D. was practically trotting in order to keep up with Chris Larabee's long stride.

"No, I don't think they're very far out, based on the condition Chaucer's in. Even though he'd run pretty good, he still seems to have a lot left in 'im."

"Damned horse'll want to go out looking with us," Chris grumbled as he reached the livery. "Tiny?"

"Pony and Milagro are all saddled. I'll have Nathan's saddled in a minute. Josiah gonna take a wagon?"

"Reckon so. Damn it. I thought maybe with Buck with 'em they'd be able to stay out of trouble."

"Brother Chris, you don't know what happened. Don't go blamin' Vin or Ezra just yet," Josiah Sanchez said, his deep voice echoing the care he felt for his friends.

"Shit. Almost forgot," Tiny said. "Found this. I was just gettin' ready to send Toad, er, Arthur to bring it to you. It's a note from Mr. Standish."

"It is? Figured he'd find a need to explain himself. Probably tryin' to justify what happened." The leader of The Magnificent Seven read the note to himself.

_**Dear Mr. Larabee (or whomever of our fine group should receive this missive),**_

_**Believe it or not, we truly were minding our own business. We left that God forsaken town just after a far-too-early breakfast. We were ambushed by some men who ****were****are**** were and are loyal to that miscreant Kilmer. We are but an hour from home, but Vin has suffered more than one knock to the head and Buck has a bullet wound (a through shot, not to worry). I, fortunately, have come through this skirmish unscathed. I felt it wiser not to risk either of our fellows' health, trusting in Chaucer to get to you expeditiously, and that my missive is readily apparent. Come as quickly as you can. Please rest assured that our friends will recover from their injuries, with the timely and fine care of our wonderful healer. I have one malefactor who will be remanded for trial, and one who is already dispatched to meet his maker.**_

_**Yours,**_

_**Ezra P. Standish**_

"Shit," Chris said as he handed the letter to Josiah.

"Blood," the former preacher said as he looked the note over carefully before he began to read it.

"Tiny, where'd you find this?" J.D. asked.

"It was stickin' out under the horn, fell away when I took the saddle off."

"All right. Nathan should be here soon. Sounds like Ezra has things in hand, though," Chris said as he took Pony's reins and walked his horse out to the afternoon's waning sun, the cold day feeling much colder now that the clouds had overtaken the sun's rays.

* * *

"Ezra?"

Vin shifted in his sleep at the calling of his friend's name. "What?"

"Stay put, Vin. Everything's fine," Buck insisted, though he wasn't feeling altogether sure about that at the moment.

"Ezra all right?" Vin asked as he forced himself to sit up. He held his head once in an upright position, and waited for an answer … and for everything around him to stop spinning.

"He's sleeping." Buck figured the lie was better for the moment. He didn't think Ezra was just sleeping; he'd tried several times to wake the gambler, but to no avail. It felt a lot like when one of them had to awaken the southerner from his featherbed, except that on the trail, Ezra was always up and ready to go, primarily so that he could get back to the two places he felt most comfortable: the saloon … and that featherbed. But more important than that, on the trail he usually had between one and six really good reasons to be awake and alert. Buck knew there was something wrong, but he hadn't gotten around to checking his friend out closely enough to know just what that was before he heard a familiar and welcome voice.

"Hello the camp!"

"Thank god," Buck said quietly. "Chris?" he called out.

"Yeah. Everybody all right?"

"Been better," Vin mumbled.

"Nathan?"

"Yeah, Buck."

"Vin took a couple of kicks to the head, one from that horse of his."

"Check Ezra first," Vin insisted.

"Ezra?" Nathan asked, echoed immediately by Chris and J.D.

"Ezra's note said he was all right," Chris said as he left Pony to commiserate with Clyde and Peso. He kneeled in front of Vin, but looked toward Buck for further explanation.

"Ezra sent a note?"

"With Chaucer," J.D. said.

"Chaucer?"

"You didn't notice that Chaucer was missing?" Chris asked.

"Well, no, old pard. I just woke up a few minutes ago." He smiled. He had to admit, he felt pretty good, considering he had two bullet holes in him.

"What about Ezra?" Chris asked. Nathan had just finished removing his supplies and was walking toward the group.

Buck's faced changed quickly, the smile of amusement turning quickly to a face full of concern. "I've been tryin' to get him awake for five minutes, off and on. Can't wake him."

Nathan Jackson kneeled before the gambler. "Hell, he's hot." The healer placed his hand on Ezra's forehead. "Hot as hell." Buck looked more worried now. His injury had kept him in his place; he'd only been calling to Ezra … and tossing an occasional stone, which he was feeling pretty bad about the longer Ezra remained still and quiet. The black man started to remove the con man's clothing and quickly found the source of the blood that they'd found smeared on Ezra's saddle, and on the paper he used to request help. "Knife wound," Nathan said, but hastily added, "don't look too bad. Ain't what's causin' this fever."

Vin asked, "What's wrong?" He tried to move closer to Ezra, but Chris held him back, and Nathan encouraged their leader to keep Vin calm.

"You sit still," the healer said to the tracker. In answer to Vin's question, he added, "Don't know, but it's a high fever. Could be catching."

"Hope you're wrong about that, Nate. Ezra's been all over both me and Vin, makin' sure we were all right. If it is catchin', you'll likely be busy with me and Vin soon."

"Either o' you feel sick?"

"You mean other than from bein' kicked in the head … twice?" Vin asked wearily, but more aware of his surroundings.

Buck smiled. "You're sounding like your old self." To Nathan he answered, "Reckon you don't mean that chunk of lead that made a visit in my shoulder?"

"No."

"I feel pretty good, then, considering." He knew he had Ezra to thank for that.

"You all been together? Ate the same things?" Nathan asked, starting the familiar series of questions that he usually went through in order to determine what might be wrong. The obvious bruises and minor perforation were not the cause of Ezra's current state. They might be contributing to how poorly the man felt, but being unconscious, pretty deeply unconscious in Nathan's opinion, he likely wasn't feeling those ills so much.

"Yeah. Didn't exactly get a warm welcome from the folks in Eagle Bend," Buck said. "You'd think they'd be more welcoming since it was their sheriff who asked us to come back and testify."

"We testified, spent the evening in the saloon," Vin said helpfully, and gratefully, thankful that he remembered that much.

"Went to bed early, got up early and headed home. Didn't see any point in wearing out our welcome," Buck continued.

"More like lack of it," Vin corrected.

"Yeah," Buck agreed.

"He didn't eat or drink anything unusual?" Nathan asked.

"Nope."

"You're sure?"

"Nate, we all ate the special at the restaurant, we only drank beer at the saloon," Vin said, sounding testy. It was clear to them all from the tone in his voice that Vin's head was hurting badly.

"You," Nathan said to Vin, "just sit quiet. Buck," the healer said, turning to the lean gunman, "did he seem sick at all the last couple of days? Do anything out of the ordinary?"

"He didn't seek out any players. Just played some friendly hands of poker with the two of us," Buck explained.

"That don't seem right," J.D. interjected.

"Seemed kind o' quiet," Vin said softly. Nathan gave him a warning glare. Vin shrugged his shoulder, paused before continuing and then ended with, "Hell," as he realized he'd missed some important signs.

"He's probably been gettin' sicker all this time he's been tendin' us, makin' sure we were all right, comfortable. Brewed some of your tea," he said, referring to Nate's medicinal beverages, "made sure we drank enough of that swamp juice, and water." Buck shook his head. "Can you tell anything, Nathan?"

"I'd guess it's a real bad case of influenza," the former slave said, a deeply worried tone delivering the diagnosis.

"Shit," Buck said. The wagon could be heard, announcing Josiah's arrival.

"Best thing we can do is get him back to the clinic. This'll run its course, but he could get worse before he gets better." Nathan chose not to remind them that not everyone recovered from influenza. But Chris was having none of that.

"But he will get better." His tone brooked no argument, but Nathan wasn't one to lie about such things.

"I'll do my best, but it's really more up to Ezra." They had learned over the course of their three years together that they were all strong men, that they all had the force of will when it was most needed.

"He ain't been sick. You know, throwin' up," Vin said, wanting so much to have Nathan be wrong on this. In Vin's experience, more people died from influenza than not.

"No. This sickness has really knocked him out," Nathan said. "Happens sometimes." '_Damn hard to treat_,' the healer thought to himself.

"Brothers?" Josiah asked as he joined his fellow lawmen.

"Hey Josiah," Buck said.

"I've seen you look better," the preacher responded.

"Yeah, well, if I look how I feel, then it ain't one of my better days."

"All right. Let's get all three of 'em loaded and head on back to town." Nathan's serious tone had Chris, J.D. and Josiah working dutifully with the healer to get the wounded – and the sick – members of their law enforcement team into the wagon and as comfortable as possible for the ride home.

"You think any more of them will be heading our way?" Chris asked as Buck let out a heartfelt yawn.

"Don't know," Buck answered quietly.

"I already told the fancy man that more'll be comin'."

"Shut up," six voices could be heard in the still of the evening.

J.D. said, "Be happy to put that scarf back over your mouth." To his friends he said, "Judge Travis'll be arriving tomorrow. Need to send him a telegram letting him know what happened."

"Better send one to the sheriff, too," Vin added. "The Judge won't take proper precautions. Sheriff will make sure he does."

"Vin," Nathan warned once more, followed by, "Good thing Stains ain't there no more." The former slave road alongside the full wagon, monitoring his charges. He had given Buck the job of soothing the gambler's fever with a cool, damp cloth. Vin, if he stayed awake long enough, was in charge of making sure the blankets thrown off or kicked away by the southerner were replaced promptly. It would take them no longer than an hour to get home. Home, where they had the upper hand in protecting themselves as well as the town.; where Nathan could get Ezra warmed up, dosed up and on the road to recovery; where they could put the surviving attacker in jail, his fate in the hands of a judge who had feelings for the men who had been hurt. Home. It had been just a word to these men, each of the men, for their own reasons, having lost, or at least misplaced, what the meaning of home was. In these last years, each man had re-learned the definition, in a far deeper way than they ever felt possible again.

* * *

"How's everybody? Where's Buck?" Chris asked as he entered the clinic.

"Ain't got enough room here. Sent him to his own room. He'll be fine," Nathan added.

"He on … restricted activity?"

Nathan snorted a laugh, as did Vin. "Yeah."

"How you feelin'?" Chris asked the tracker as he took the seat beside the cot; though there was only one bed in the clinic, Nathan would set up a cot when he had more than one patient in residence.

"Hey," Vin answered back.

"That ain't an answer. How're you feeling?" Chris asked again.

"Better. Head still hurts."

"He also ain't standin' without fallin' back to the bed. He's not as well as he lets on," Nathan countered.

"I'm fine, Nate. Ezra's the one we should all be worried about."

Chris looked to the gambler. He laid in the bed, paler than Chris could ever recall seeing him, blotches of red on his cheek and forehead, his face and neck glistening with sweat. He didn't look well at all. Chris couldn't remember exactly when it was that he actually started to care for the man in this way. He knew his relationship with Ezra was more adversarial at the beginning. But that had changed in a pretty dramatic way. He hardly remembered that time in their lives. He loved all of these men like brothers, even this most frustrating of men.

"He wake up yet?"

"Just enough for me to get some water and tea in him, and then to complain about how lousy he felt." Nathan wiped Ezra's face before adding, "Still acted the gentleman as he railed about his aches and pains."

"It ain't an act," Vin said with sympathy. The tracker knew the healer hadn't meant the comment as a slight, though if Ezra had been at all aware of the goings on right now, the tracker was sure that with the contentious pasts of his two friends from the south, the gambler might well have defended himself against any accusation that his gentlemanly ways were anything but genuine.

"Nah, I reckon it ain't," the healer agreed as he finished his gentle, caring ministrations. To Chris, Nathan asked, "Any sign of more trouble?" It was late-morning of the following day. If there was going to be trouble, Nathan needed to know so that he could be prepared to defend his two patients.

"No. Judge Travis sent a telegram before he left today. He said that the two who came after Vin, Ezra and Buck were the only people 'of concern' missing in Eagle Bend. Now that Kilmer's dead, even his defenders seem to have decided it was time to get on with their lives. He'll be arriving today for a quick trial, a day with his grandson, and then he'll head back home to Santa Fe day after tomorrow."

"Mrs. Travis and Billy will be happy about that," Nathan noted.

"Yeah," Chris said as he kept a troubled eye on Ezra. "No worries on the knife wound?"

"No. It was a glancing blow, for a change. He probably really didn't even know he'd been cut. It should heal just fine." Chris nodded his head but stayed in his seat, watching Ezra. Vin and Nathan shared a concerned look, and then the man from Texas spoke up.

"Something else wrong?"

Chris looked back to Vin, and then over to Nathan. He brushed his hand through his hair, shook his head slightly as he looked down at the sick man in the bed and said, "No. Well, not really. Just wonderin'. If he hadn't gotten so sick that he passed out, do you think he'd've kept on hiding it, kept trying to … "

"What's the point in wonderin'?" Vin asked. "Ezra's the way he is. I gotta tell ya, I'm damned grateful. He's a tenacious son-of-a-bitch."

"Tenacious, huh?" Chris asked with a grin. Nathan lowered his head to hide the wide smile.

"You need a definition, cowboy?" Vin demanded, his voice raised, though it was clear from his own smile that he was faking that he'd gotten his dander up at Chris calling him on the use of the word. Besides, he knew Chris and Nathan both understood what he meant, and that they both agreed with the sentiment.

"No, I know what it means."

From the bed, the hushed but distinct accent of the southerner could be heard. "Ah would take umbrage … at the denigration of mah parentage … if it were not for the fact that … Ah have learned, the hard way, that being honest … with mahself works best when it comes to dealing with Mother."

"Don't know that you're up for a long conversation," Nathan said as he seemed immediately ready to get more water into his patient.

"Sorry, Ezra. Didn't mean to slight yer ma," Vin said, looking away in shame.

Ezra drank down an entire glass of water, his need for hydration evident after hour upon hour of persistent fever and sweating. Once finished, he called to Vin. The tracker looked to the gambler as the sick man replied in a most convincing tone, "You did not." They all knew Maude Standish, so they knew that Ezra was only being honest with them all, not just with himself.

"You sound, well, it's good to hear you sounding like yourself," Chris said.

"As opposed to?" Ezra asked, wincing as he struggled to a more upright position. He couldn't manage it, certainly not without feeling more aches than expected. Nathan and Chris helped him up, and Nathan held him forward … Ezra lacked even the ability to hold himself up, so weak was he from his illness. Vin placed an additional pillow behind his back. He was securely propped up as he waited for Chris' response, but Nathan answered instead.

"You've been real sick, Ezra. Been quiet as a mouse. Ain't normal."

"Ah guess not." Tired eyes tracked from Nathan to Chris and then to Vin. The expressions told the gambler all that he needed to know about why he still lay in the clinic and not in the comfort of his featherbed. "Mah apologies for worryin' you all."

"Not just us. J.D.'s been a mess, and Josiah's spent a fair amount of time at the church," Vin said.

"Is that so?" Ezra pondered a moment, catching his breath and marveling at just exactly how rotten he felt. "What malady has struck me," he asked, taking a breath; as Nathan noted, he really wasn't up for long conversation. "How long have Ah been abnormally quiet?"

"Seems to be a bad case of influenza," Nathan said. "You've been … asleep most of sixteen hou … "

"Good lord!" Ezra exclaimed, followed by a catch in his throat, and then some serious coughing. Nathan fed him some water, which helped to clear his throat so that he could continue. "Are you certain about this diagnosis? That is a dreadfully contagious illness. Should Ah not be quarantined?" He looked to Chris. "Certainly you should not be here." His silence on Vin's presence made it obvious to all that he understood the tracker would already have been exposed, considering their closeness over the last few days.

"Stop talking or you'll be coughing again. I said it seems like influenza, but since Buck and Vin don't have any symptoms, I think it might just be some other nasty sort of sickness. I'm waitin' to hear back from a couple of doctors that I sent telegrams to, but for now, I'm just gonna treat your symptoms and you are going to take it easy until this thing has passed." Nathan held Ezra's eyes, waiting for the gambler to agree to all of his terms. Ezra saw a level of caring that, though he knew it existed, surprised him every time he was witness to it … was the recipient of it.

"Ah honestly cannot imagine doin' anything else. Ah feel as though Ah've been hit by a stagecoach."

"You got sliced and got some bruises when we fought those fellers."

"Hmm. Yes, Ah remember. One wonders how they thought they would better the three of us when they were so woefully inept at handling their guns, their knives and their fists."

"Probably thought if they surprised ya they'd have an advantage," Chris said.

"Perhaps." Ezra sighed and settled heavily into the propped up pillows.

"What's wrong?" Chris asked.

Ezra closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. When he put his hand down, its weight seeming heavy as an anvil, he said, "This … " he said as he tried to wave his hand, but his weakness prevented the physical demonstration from progressing very far. He let his hand drop to the bed as he continued, " … has grown more and more tiresome." His friends knew he was speaking of his presence, far too many times, in Nathan's clinic.

"You seem to get the shit end an awful lot of the time," Buck Wilmington replied as he entered the clinic.

"I told you to keep put," Nathan said. He shook his head as he went to pour a fresh mug of tea for Ezra.

"Hell, I'm fine, Nate. Been gettin' real good comforting from Alice. And Milly. And … "

"We get the idea, Buck," Chris said, putting a stop to Buck's recitation, knowing that today, another one of Buck's conquest stories would just put Ezra to sleep. On second thought, that was probably a good idea.

"Jealous ol' pard?" Chris rolled his eyes. To Ezra, Buck said softly and with a warmth he hadn't managed for his bevy of women, "How you feelin'?"

The gambler hesitated. He'd already let it be known how poorly he was feeling, but he wasn't sure he wanted the entire town knowing. Buck wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it once he saw J.D., and J.D. … well, once J.D. had that knowledge it would not be long before the entire populace knew. It wasn't with malice that the young man would spread the word. The boy talked, it was just the way things were.

"Bettah," the con man finally said. Nathan raised his eyebrows at the response. Ezra sent him the faintest shake of the head, a silent request to let the answer be.

"Well, ya don't look much better. Not sure I believe ya. But Nate here will make sure you're better in no time."

"Ah have the utmost faith in Mistah Jackson's skills." The former slave and the southern gentleman's eyes met once more, an extended exchange where Ezra said more intimately without saying a word how much the tender care meant to him. Nathan, silently as well, said back what was always so hard for the proud black man to say out loud.

"What became of our prisoner?" Ezra asked of Vin and Buck. He yawned and blinked tired eyes.

"Waitin' on Judge Travis to get here," Vin answered. Ezra's eyes blinked more slowly as he nodded his understanding.

"All right. That's enough," Nathan said. "All o' you can get out now."

Ezra's eyes blinked open – wide – the green orbs glassy, tired. It was a valiant effort to keep them open as the sick man tried to feign that he could stay alert for more conversation. His heart, his entire being enjoyed the company of his fellows, even though his body was working against that desire.

"Forget it, Ezra. I think Nathan's got your number," Chris said.

"Very well," Ezra said as he closed his eyes. The sick man knew he had his friends watching his back, even as he slept.

"Don't sleep yet. Need to get some food and tea into you." Ezra didn't move or speak or otherwise acknowledge the comment. The healer looked up to his other friends. "Why are all y'all still here?" he asked. Chris and Buck left. Vin stayed quiet in his cot. Once the door closed, Ezra spoke.

"Nathan … "

"Don't start, Ezra. You need to eat."

"Mah dear sir, you cannot be serious about food or that disgusting swill you call tea, a misnomer most unkind to the delightful Assam that dear Mrs. Potter kindly orders for me from London."

Vin snorted a laugh. "That ain't helping, Vin." To Ezra he said, "Inez is bringing over some broth."

"Nathan … "

"You need to keep your strength up," Nathan continued, ignoring his patient, though truly doing anything but. "And I really don't care how much you don't like my tea, or that I call it that. You need to keep your fever low."

"Mah fever is low?" Ezra asked as he wiped the moisture from his forehead.

"You would feel better if you didn't try to do more than you should."

"He's right," Vin interjected.

"Nathan," Ezra said at the same time he sent a glare to Vin, "Ah am doin' nothin'. How much less can Ah possibly do?"

"You know what I mean, Ezra. That whole conversation. It tired you out." Ezra blinked, and then nodded, admitting defeat. "You need all your energy to fight this."

Ezra looked toward the door, absorbing Nathan's words, and then looked back to his friend. "Ah am willin' to admit to you – and to Vin, since Ah cannot keep him from listenin' – that Ah may not be up for visitors. Ah have nevah in mah life felt as poorly as Ah do in this moment. Ah will do all that you say to get bettah."

Nathan stared at his friend, a little dumbfounded.

"I guess I should feel glad that I have a witness to what you just said."

Ezra murmured softly, "Won' need it." Vin nodded his agreement, knowing that he had no say, but hoping that Nathan truly understood what Ezra had just said.

"Don't sleep," Nathan pleaded.

"Mmm-hmmm," the gambler hummed, nearly asleep.

Nathan and Vin exchanged a look and affectionate smiles. "I'll wake you when Inez gets here," Nathan said warmly as he took the cloth once more to Ezra's face and neck. He felt more than heard the 'mmm' as his patient accepted the caring touch.

The End


End file.
